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ARTEMIS
EVERYTHING IS SPINNING OUT OF control. Nina was never supposed to be here. She was never supposed to see how it happened. She was never supposed to be in danger.
Artemis wanted to protect her from that, at least. But it’s too late. She needs to protect Nina, she needs to help Honora, she needs and she needs and she needs. The Sleeping One was right to see that in her. She needs so much, and until she gets this power, she’ll face this exact situation until Nina dies, or Honora does, or Artemis does. She’ll watch Nina get left behind in flames. She’ll watch Honora being hurt by people she can’t fight.
Once, when presented with an impossible situation, she chose Nina. And because of that, she lost the role that should have been hers. The training. The power to make decisions for herself and others. She’s never forgotten what it felt like to hold Nina in her arms while the world burned around them. It wasn’t real—it was a magic-induced hallucination to test whether she could make the hardest sacrifice—but Artemis saw and felt everything. Those bastards made her test as close to what had actually happened as possible. The world even burned violet-black, just like their room.
She chose Nina. She chose wrong. And she knows Nina will never make the right choice either.
This time she’s choosing power over Nina, so she’ll never have to make that choice again because no one—no one—will be able to hurt her. And only then will everyone else be safe.
Nina is in her arms again. The world isn’t burning. Yet. Artemis won’t fail.
29
“NO FAIR,” I MUMBLE AROUND the swirling stars of pain and confusion left behind after Artemis’s fist gave my face a handshake. “Cheating.” My arms still won’t work, and Artemis is obviously taking whatever performance-enhancing demon cocktail Honora favors.
“Will you calm down and wait?” She hauls me to standing, then holds me up, my back against her. Her arm around my neck. A blade against my—
Oh. Not holding me up. Holding me hostage.
“How could you?” I’m not crying because of the pain in my face—which is tremendous but temporary. “She helped raise us. She knitted you a scarf last Christmas. She’s Rhys’s grandma.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Ruth! She was an old lady who never hurt … well, she probably hurt a lot of things, but she never hurt us.”
“You have a concussion.” Artemis sounds concerned but distracted. “I didn’t mean to hit you that har
d.”
“Artemis!” Rhys shouts as he, Leo, and Cillian race onto our catwalk. Leo is still mildly glowing—or it could be my spinning vision giving him a halo—and Rhys has his crossbow reloaded and pointed at my sister. Which also means pointed at me. Imogen is behind them, next to Doug.
“I need to know how to make it work.” Artemis jerks her head back toward the glowy doom triangle. “I know the basics, but the book didn’t have any diagrams.”
“You slit my grandmother’s throat,” Rhys says, his voice cold.
“What the hell, Rhys? Nina, is that what you were talking about? Ruth is dead?”
“Don’t play dumb!” Rhys’s hands are shaking.
“Point that elsewhere, please.” I eye the crossbow. My arms are still numb, but my fingers feel like they’re being stabbed by a million hot lava needles, so that’s probably a good sign I’m going to get movement back. Or a sign my fingers are about to fall off. I give it fifty-fifty odds. “Artemis, drop the knife. No one here wants to hurt you.”
“I do,” Rhys says.
“But we will if we have to,” I continue, glaring at Rhys.
“You all think—you actually think …” She takes a deep breath. “After everything. Figures. I don’t have time for this.” Artemis jabs the knife, poking me with it. “Cillian. I see the way you’re looking at it. You know how it works, don’t you?”
Cillian shakes his head, but then nods. He can’t quite look away. It’s exactly the same as the puzzle his dad let him play with when he was little. So whatever needs to happen to make it functional … I suspect Cillian can do it.
“Why are you helping a hellgod, Artemis?” I ask.
“I’m not helping anyone. Cillian. Do it.”
“No!” I shake my head.
There’s a shout and a scream. I can’t look to see, but it sounds like my mother and Cillian’s mother. Inside the caverns.
